The air goes out of him, and he curls into the blow, smelling the man's sweat and his fear, his blood and his rage. Vlad's hands grab onto the sleeves of the man's coat, just to keep his balance.

His voice is barely more than a whisper. 'Stay with me.'

His vision is blurring and he keeps the monster deep in the vault of his mind, letting the blood flow, letting the wounds stand. He could heal them as quickly as they were made, but he will not.

It would cost blood, and he does not want to spend the last few precious drops that keep him bound to this glorious bull of a man. Worse, he knows he will relent, in the end.

The iron wire around his heart clenches tighter, and it drowns out the beating.